


wind soul

by rhymeswithpi



Series: limit break [26]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Headcanon, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Touch Aversion, an attempt at fluff was made, iggy is a bit of a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 04:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12051153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymeswithpi/pseuds/rhymeswithpi
Summary: Iggy’s shoulders are shaking, and either he is theweirdestcrier ever or - no, that’s laughter. What the hell is going on?





	wind soul

**Author's Note:**

> because I made everything _awful_ and then had to try to fix it  >_>

Iggy’s mashed himself up against the wall again in what Noct can only assume is an attempt to take up as little space as possible. It would be easier to pull down the upper bunk, crawl up there and _sleep_ , but it feels wrong to leave Iggy alone there. Besides, he’s still not convinced Iggy is as okay as he’s claiming to be.

The door clicks closed behind him despite his attempts to be as quiet as possible. If Iggy notices, he doesn’t react, arm still thrown over his face. He almost doesn’t reach out to him, almost doesn’t let him know he’s there, but he’s so sick of all these _almosts_ between them. They were _almost_ happy, almost something, almost not _total wrecks_.

‘Almost’ sucks, he decides, reaching for Iggy’s shoulder. There’s a moment where he thinks Iggy will push him away, press even _closer_ to the wall, and he nearly draws his hand back before Iggy relaxes. Well, almost relaxes. It’s awkward and tense and he _hates_ it, but it’s better than nothing. He’ll have to take it. These moments with only the two of them are so rare of late. The world is clearly conspiring to keep them apart. Noct lets his hand wander up, plays with Iggy’s hair. He freezes when Iggy tenses up _again_ , takes a minute to wait for any sign that he needs to stop.

This would be so much easier if he could just be angry at _someone_ for this, pissed off that someone hurt his friend over and over until something so simple as affection made him cringe. The people responsible are all gone, though, dead with Insomnia. There’s no one _left_ to be pissed at. No amount of anger or yelling or _anything_ can fix this. Maybe Gladio’s onto something, wanting to punch everything that makes him mad. It has to be better than wallowing in useless anger without any outlet. For now, it’s easier to lay down. At least he can be near Iggy, even if he can’t fix anything.

Shit, is Iggy _crying_? He's never seen Iggy cry, not in the almost twenty years they've spent with each other. It’s not that Iggy _doesn’t_ , he’s noticed the signs here and there. Iggy just doesn’t do vulnerable around people. Ever. It’s as much his fault as it is anyone else’s, really. He’s always let Iggy _leave_ when things get to be too much, never spared a thought for trying to comfort another person.

Noct is wiping away the tear before he can stop himself, before he remembers this isn’t _allowed_. He scrambles back on the mattress, nearly falls off the edge. They haven’t _talked_ about this, this _whatever_ they had before Altissia, and now he’s gone and ruined the fragile setup they’ve had, the careful distance they have to maintain. He flops down with a groan, landing hard on the floor. Fuck.

“Sorry,” he mutters, pulling himself back up onto the bed. “I didn’t - that wasn’t what I meant to do. I can leave if you want.”

Not that Noct even _knows_ what he meant to do beyond _not that_. Iggy’s shoulders are shaking, and either he is the _weirdest_ crier ever or - no, that’s laughter. What the hell is going on?

“Just as graceful as always,” Iggy says.

Noct shrugs, winces when he remembers Iggy can’t see things like that. Whatever. All he wants to do is press himself against Iggy’s side again and just _be_ for a while. Words are hard enough, without having to narrate every action. He scoots a bit closer, instead, reaches for Iggy’s hand when he rolls onto his back. This is okay, he thinks, this little bit of contact. Iggy’s not fighting it. An anchor for both of them, a reminder of what they _didn’t_ lose to Leviathan and the Empire.

Maybe this can be enough.

For now, all he can do is shift in a bit at a time, get back to the distance they’ve been keeping, let Iggy move closer when he’s ready. If Iggy’s _ever_ ready.

It’s later than any of them should be awake, especially after the adventure that was the mine. There’s no reason to be this alert, not when every inch of him is screaming for _sleep_. At least Iggy seems to be in the same state, caught somewhere between too tired to move and too awake to sleep.

It’s slow, calculated, the way Iggy drifts closer to him. A gentle roll onto his side, hands squeezed together in the scant space between them. He can feel Iggy’s breath, they’re so close, gentle, even, whispering across his collarbone.

“Noct, where are your pants?”

Iggy’s frozen again, free hand brushing against his bare thigh. _Shit_. Noct leans over the edge of the bed to fetch the blanket, tucks it around himself.

“Uh. We did the laundry. Or tried to, at least. Sort of. Probably just made it all worse.”

“So Gladio told me. Soap bubbles everywhere. And cactuars, apparently.”

“Solidarity. Prom didn’t have pants, either.”

“And it didn’t dawn on you that you have more pants than the rest of us combined? Plenty to go around.”

Son of a bitch, he _hadn’t_ thought of that. Well, it’s too late now. Iggy settles against him, yawning. Noct lets out a shaky breath, pulls the cuff of Iggy’s t-shirt until it lays flat. There’s a tiny hint of a bruise there, and it’s taking all his energy to _not_ pull up the sleeve and examine it, make sure his own stupidity hasn’t hurt Iggy any more than it already has.

“Doors,” Iggy says. “Never where I expect them to be.”

He couldn’t leave Iggy behind if he wanted to, he realises. They’ve been so wrapped up in each other’s lives for so long, the mere _thought_ of not being with Iggy is impossible. Even in the alternate timeline where he’d married Luna and everything had gone according to plan, Specs would have been at his side.

As much as he wants to wrap his arm around Iggy, pull him tight against his chest and _not let go_ , he can’t. Too much, too fast, too _unexpected_. Iggy will always need the option to pull away, the space behind him to retreat into when it gets to be too much. It doesn’t matter, though, not so long as they can stay together.

But Iggy’s getting twitchy, breaths coming faster. Noct starts to pull away, to give him _space_ , stopped by the hand fisting into his shirt.

“Can you - I mean. No one has bothered to tell me. No one _wants_ to tell me, I suspect. How bad they are.”

Noct freezes for a minute, fingers just barely touching Iggy’s cheekbone. It’s the closest they’ve been since that last night in Caem, one of the few times they’ve been alone without having to worry about someone barging in or things that have to be done immediately.

He doesn’t know where to start. _How_ to start. It’s so intimate, so different from anything Specs has _ever_ asked him to do, just laying here on this uncomfortable bed and touching his face.

Iggy grabs his wrist, moves his fingers over to his right eye.

“If you can’t, I’ll understand,” he says, hardly more than a whisper. “I just… need to know.”

“I can do it,” Noct says, sliding the edge of his thumb over the tiny scar. “You - you’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

There’s a long pause before Iggy nods, so slight Noct almost doesn’t notice. Iggy probably won’t say anything, then, but he seems to need this, seems to trust _Noct_ to do it more than anyone else.

Better get to it, then, before the moment passes and Iggy shuts himself off again.

It’s not much of a scar, barely longer than the last joint of his little finger. Not much wider than a coin. Iggy seems satisfied with that, hums something inarticulate, keeps his eyes closed as Noct moves down to his nose. It cuts deeper, but it’s not quite the length of a fingernail, hardly enough to span the bridge.

Noct shifts away, frees his other hand from where Iggy has it trapped against the mattress. Gods, he hopes Iggy can’t hear how fast his heart is beating, can’t feel how _nervous_ he is to actually look at the worst of the scarring.

His hands are trembling. Maybe it’s anxiety or it’s sheer exhaustion, but Noct briefly wishes he hadn’t said he could do this. He’s not sure he can, not sure he can tell Iggy just how the scar that took his vision looks, not sure he can be trusted to be _accurate_. Iggy needs this, though, needs to move on. If this is what has to be done, he can do it.

His eyes catch on the tiny scar on Iggy’s lower lip, hardly noticeable in the dim light. Barely darker than the surrounding skin, a minor imperfection at best.

Iggy huffs out a nervous laugh, fingers twisting into Noct’s shirt a little harder. Now or never, he thinks, drags his fingers away to trace out the rough outline by Iggy’s left eye. Iggy moves a bit, makes it easier to reach.

It’s smaller than his palm, maybe three fingers in width. He doesn’t really want to press against it to be certain, knows scar tissue can be weirdly sensitive at the best of times. It’s jagged. Messy. He was expecting it to look a lot worse, if he’s honest, and maybe it’s as bad as he thought around Iggy’s ruined eye but it’s not _that_ bad.

Which isn’t to say it’s not heart-breaking. Iggy was hurt _for him_ , all so he could form a covenant with a god that could’ve cared less about the destruction it brought upon the people.

The quiet ‘thank you’ that spills from Iggy’s lips is almost lost in the rustling of the wind outside, misplaced between uneven breathing and tears they don’t let fall. This is okay. Whatever’s coming, they’ll be okay. Noct moves his hands away from Iggy’s face, carefully pries his fingers loose from his shirt.

“When you can,” Noct says, “I want to know how you got these. All of them. Not just… what Altissia did.”

Iggy nods, tugs the blanket over himself. Maybe they’ll get lucky, and this train will never leave the station. It’s doubtful. Noct can already hear the other passengers waking up, even if the sun _still_ isn’t up. For now, he’ll just enjoy the moment, Iggy snoring softly next to him. The Empire can wait.

  
  



End file.
